The sunset sky is ablaze,
fireballs swirl in the blue,
scattering all their flames,
a show of elegance inconnue.
As if a wizard threw
a kaleidoscope in the air,
being here feels quite illegal
without any ticket to pay.
But as nature always teaches,
the flamboyant-hued oddities
often hide beneath the surface
the deadliest poisonous beings.
This synthetic sky is no less
for it is the doomed produce
of stifling dry spells,
of all the air we pollute.
(The wind stinks of fumes
exhausted as our lungs.)
Perhaps this bright performance
is a fateful yell,
a dance of burning colours,
a common cry for help.
Cosmic & Uneasy 